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Chapter 10 - Muddy Waters (CF)
Tubba followed his newest host through the jungle, glad when he put distance between himself and Kremstag. Galmajo had introduced himself to be a young, twenty-two year old Magikoopa from a town a few hours north from the beach. The ship had docked at one of the larger Zaz Islands, which meant that once they put sufficient distance between their location, the Iglators and Kremstag, there was a very low chance that either would be able to find their lost prize, the Clubba with half a tail. A destabilizing sense of hopeless had begun to settle down on him as he followed Galmajo through the trees, like a dark cloud that could not be chased by the sun. The image of the sole star sparkling, unburdened by the clouds surrounding it was beginning to fade. He was once the heir to the Clubba Kingdom. How had it come to this? How could this have happened to him? Thirty years after his birth, he was aimlessly being thrown from captor to ally to captor to ally like an object - unbefitting of the lofty status his birth had bestowed him with. But he knew, deep in his heart, that he could only blame himself for the loss of his birthright. The chat between himself and Galmajo was limited, with the Magikoopa merely leading the larger Clubba through the dips and trees of the jungles, avoiding species like the Wigglers or Piders which wished to block their path. The sun was dipping to the horizon when they approached the end of the jungle, allowing the slight humidity of the jungle to yield to a crisp autumn chill. “Where are we?” Tubba questioned his Magikoopa ally, who was leading the way, a few paces ahead, his long yellow robe running along the ground. Galmajo turned, his young, bright eyes reaching Tubba with a welcoming look. “We’ve travelled north for a few hours, right? We’re now at a different port city in the Zaz Kingdom. Welcome to Montaj.” Galmajo stepped aside from a rocky outcropping he had approached, allowing Tubba to get a glimpse of the town he mentioned. Down a slightly steep hill from their current location just outside the jungle, Tubba could see the crisscrossing network of dirt and gravel paths, dotted with house after house, all lit up by artificial lighting in the dying sunlight. Just beyond the town was the docks, a pier made out of rock, not unlike Byrnt Port, jutting out into the water, where a few ships lingered. Tubba took a step forward, to the edge of the steep hill leading downward, letting his eyes survey the sight. The dying sun was dipping behind him, framing the town with a blood-red glow. Was it an omen? Of things to come, or of things that had already come? “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” Galmajo drew level with Tubba surveying the valley below, his voice light and unburdened, as youth should be. “Montaj is my favourite place on the planet, Tubba.” “I’ll bet.” Tubba concurred, acknowledging that while the town was not as splendorous as his hometown of Gusty Gulch, for a young Magikoopa like Galmajo, Montaj was probably the only place that he had ever known in his life. “Is this just a Magikoopa village?” He nodded. “Montaj was founded a few hundred years ago, and is one of the last Magikoopa-only places on the planet. Of course, we won’t reject sailors or ships that come here seeking supplies and aid, but the only permanent residents are Magikoopas.” Galmajo pointed his magic sceptre up the sky, making it glow with an eerie white light, quite obvious on the cliff in the fast darkening sky. “What’s that for?” Tubba questioned - the bright light would attract everyone from inside the town, and possibly Iglators or Kremlings in the jungle, if they had elected to pursue Tubba after defeating the other group. “It’s a signal to the other Magikoopas in the village that a visitor is coming with me,” Galmajo explained, putting away his sceptre and beginning to lead the way down the hill. “We like to be prepared for all sorts of visitors. Magikoopas were a marginalized group for centuries, and we have no intention of being caught underprepared, should the tides of time shift again.” Tubba followed Galmajo, letting his words ring in his head. Like all Magikoopas, Galmajo was wise beyond his years. Not only did Magikoopas mature at incredibly young ages, reaching adulthood at around ten, their lifespans were among the longest on the planet - the oldest Magikoopas could live up to one hundred and seventy years. Stepping onto the gravel roads of Montaj, Tubba let his eyes wander the humble settlement. The houses were all made out of wood - magically enchanted wood, Tubba guessed - and were all one storey. The streets were mainly empty, although a few Magikoopas were milling around and having a conference, and a blue-robed Bandit was lurking around the shadows of the houses. The Magikoopas lived a lifestyle that was based on advancing their knowledge of magic. Magic was very much an imprecise art - what was focus? How did you channel that into tangible results? How could you apply telekinesis? Why did this work? The Magikoopas, however, were not concerned in those questions, but rather, in developing their abilities and building up their abilities, not why they possessed their abilities. “Ouch!” Tubba tripped over the trailing leg of the Bandit, landing roughly on the gravel road, having been mesmerized by his thoughts and the relative simplicity of the houses. Galmajo halted in front of him, extending a hand to help him up. “Watch where you’re going, fatso!” The Bandit remarked in a gruff voice, making Tubba pick himself off the ground faster than he would normally. There was a limit he would stand for, but having been thrown around the world, having his tail snapped off, and being constantly on the run, that limit had shrunk. His short fuse was fizzling as he confronted the Bandit over the false and derogatory name tag fatso. “Fatso? FATSO?” Tubba turned to face the Bandit, before immediately slackening his muscles as he caught sight of the Bandit’s familiar soiled mask, and beneath the mask, his eyes and mouth. The long eyes, with bags underneath them, and the half-smile was a one he had known for a few months, many, many years ago. It was the face of Mud Barnarti. Similar realization was spreading across the face of the Bandit. His eyes widened, as he glanced from Tubba to Galmajo. “Tubba? Is that you?” Tubba’s mouth was cracking into the widest smile he had had in years, and he nodded. In unison, the two of them opened their arms, with Tubba grabbing the smaller Bandit, crushing him in a bear hug. It may have been almost two decades, but the Bandit had not grown since he had last seen him. Mud croaked: “Tubba, too tight.” Tubba let go of his old friend, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. The bandit landed gently on the gravel road, rubbing his stomach. Glancing from Tubba and Galmajo, Mud opened his mouth to ask a question, but was cut off by Tubba. “Did you guys plan this?” Tubba asked Galmajo, glancing from the young Magikoopa to Mud. Galmajo had seemed aware of his predicament from the moment he had met Tubba wandering through the jungle, and meeting a long-lost friend was no coincidence. Speaking before the Magikoopa, Mud snorted. “As patient as always, Tubba.” Mud gestured at Galmajo to explain the story. Clearing his throat, Galmajo delved into the story. “Mud received news that you had been robbed in Byrnt Port, through the underground Bandit network - not you specifically, but who else was a large red Clubba with a short temper?” Tubba attempted to interrupt Galmajo, to point out that he wasn’t short-tempered, but Galmajo continued steadfastly on. “Having a hunch it was you, Mud, being the captain of the SS Mahruav, took the ship to Byrnt Port, only to learn you had been carted away on the SS Wiffler weeks before. From there, he ventured toward the SS Wiffler, only to find it listing aimlessly at sea.” Mud nodded. “They informed me and the rest of the SS Mahruav that they had been attacked by Kritters, who had set off to the north. We set our course for the north... but...” Mud paused, catching his breath and glancing to the docks. “We ran into a Zaz ship, and the SS Mahruav lost the battle comprehensively.” Tubba glanced to the docks of Montaj, seeing the ancient wooden sailing ship that the SS Mahruav was. Galmajo took the story over. “The heavily beat up ship staggered over here, where we Magikoopas were more than willing to help the SS Mahruav crew. “We’ve been repairing their ship for the past few weeks. It took Mud a week or two to trust us,” Galmajo nudged the Bandit playfully, “but eventually he came around and spilled the beans.” “From then, using skilled espionage, we found out that a red Clubba named ‘Gonzales’ was being transported from the northern island of Kremvard to a Zaz Kingdom Island.” Mud finished, “we caught a stroke of luck that the Kritters decided to throw the Zazites off course, and so Galmajo didn’t have to travel much to find you.” Tubba scratched his chin. A few things didn’t add up. Firstly, where was Mud six years ago, if he truly paid attention to the rumours of the world - in 2016, it was no secret that Tubba was leading a battler walkout to assist the Clubba Kingdom in their time of need. Where was Mud then, when he needed him? Secondly, Gonzales was not an uncommon name - it could well have been a legitimate Gonzales - why would that be the smoking gun to stealthily track the Zaz ship? “I can see the questions burning in your mind, Tubba.” Mud acknowledged, leaning against a house. “I wanted to help you in 2016, I desperately did. But I was comprehensively outvoted by the rest of the SS Mahruav, and while I could’ve overruled them, it was not in my best interest to.” “What was different this time around?” Tubba grunted, acutely aware of footsteps behind him. “I was.” Tubba spun around as the footsteps halted, to be face to face with longtime friend Gonzales, a Wizzerd hovering behind him, his blue hands turned silver in the moonlight. The Outsiders had been reunited.